Grocery shopping frenzy
On occasion, I may accompany my wife to the supermarket, but only if she mandates my attention. Otherwise, I run and hide, like I used to do when my mom was taking me to the dentist.
It’s no fun going to these places. Shoppers are dodging one another with their karts. You can spend a whole day just figuring out the cereal aisle. You end up buying everything but the item you forgot. And you can spend most of your time trying to open those plastic bags at the produce section.
Sometimes, I think it’s easier just buying your simple needs at CVS or the corner one-stop convenience store. Might be a little more money but easier on the senses.
I remember the mom and pop grocery story we had in our neighborhood where the owners knew your name. If you were a little pressed for money, they’d write out a bill and keep it in the cash register for a better time.
Life was simple and less stressful. Today, a trip to the mega, super-duper chain market would warrant a sedative when you got done.
I do have one favorite place—the bread department, though I should well avoid it. Like cereal, there are so many different kinds of bread, it’s hard to choose. When I was a kid, we didn’t have that problem. There were only two kinds—white or dark.
Movies that flop
Like I seem to do every year, the Oscar nominees I don’t see when they’re out get pushed into the back-burner for a later time.
I’m just getting around to finishing the list from 2013. It was easier when five movies were nominated. Now, we have ten. I wait until they’re rentable from my TV and pay the $4.95 charge for the comfort of my living room.
Most of the films are worth seeing, though some are better than others. On occasion, there will be one that’s unacceptable to the human condition. How a film laden with vulgarities can be considered among the best is far beyond me, especially with a family sharing the screen.
But you paid to see it and it’s almost like being held hostage in your own home. Worse, even, is paying the freight at a Showcase Cinema and cowering in your seat with displeasure.
A fishing disaster
The fish in my lake love to see my grandchildren come for a visit. That’s when disaster works in their favor. You can’t give a fishing pole to one child without appeasing all four. And that’s just one family of kids. Ages—gulp!—2, 4, 6 and 8.
Lines are flying through the air and connecting in the water. Hooks are meeting other hooks. One fish is apt to cross four errant lines. Spare the rod and spoil the child.
One of my worldly pleasures is being out on a boat, drowning worms, ear phones plugged to my favorite music, without a care in the world. A bad day of fishing is still better than a day full of chores.
Random musings
Why would any bank or organization mail me a notice telling me I have $1.08 in my account? Or send me a check for 87 cents? Just the paperwork alone must be enormous. I took the check to the bank so I could have it cashed and felt a little embarrassed by it.
I don’t like the shows they’re giving us on TV, especially all those sitcoms. There’s really nothing worth seeing on my flat screen anymore. Suppose I could buy a new set but that wouldn’t change matters any. Even the phone calls I’m getting are full of telemarketers trying to sell me nonsense. I have a package deal. All I enjoy out of it is the Internet service. Go ahead and keep the 500 channels.
Thank goodness for newspapers. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know who died. One of the first sections I read is obituaries. It’s a sad beginning to our day but bad as that may be, it’s still better than the doom and gloom that often hits the front page. Over breakfast, my wife and I compare notes about whose funeral to attend and how the memorial checks should be written.
At the fitness center the other day, I’m working out on an exercise bike and a couple guys next to me were speaking Spanish. I tried ignoring them with my earphones but they were loud. I enjoy my workouts quiet and uninterrupted. Maybe I’d have a different opinion if they were speaking Armenian and I could join the conversation.
Lastly, there’s only one way to protect yourself in the city. Move to the country.
Tom Vartabedian
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